


Noel

by swaps55



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Christmas on the Normandy, F/M, Fluff, Mass Effect Holiday Cheer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaps55/pseuds/swaps55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It starts with a mug of hot chocolate. That in itself isn’t unusual; the decadent Earth beverage is something Shepard has an odd fondness for, and he fixes it for Liara on occasion. But this one is different. He brings it to her in a red mug with a green conifer painted on the side, and there is a strange red and white striped hooked cane lolling around the rim like a straw. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“What,” Liara asks curiously, “is that?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Hot chocolate,” he replies, canting his head slightly with an odd look on his face. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I know what the liquid is. What is that.” She points at the ridiculous looking object inside it, and when Shepard glances down, she could swear he flushes a little.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“It’s, ah. It’s a candy cane.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noel

**Author's Note:**

> For dissertation-reaper. Happy Holidays!! Hope you enjoy it!

It starts with a mug of hot chocolate. That in itself isn’t unusual; the decadent Earth beverage is something Shepard has an odd fondness for, and he fixes it for Liara on occasion. But this one is different. He brings it to her in a red mug with a green conifer painted on the side, and there is a strange red and white striped hooked cane lolling around the rim like a straw.

“What,” Liara asks curiously, “is that?”

“Hot chocolate,” he replies, canting his head slightly with an odd look on his face.

“I know what the liquid is. What is _that.”_ She points at the ridiculous looking object inside it, and when Shepard glances down, she could swear he flushes a little.

“It’s, ah. It’s a candy cane.”

“A what?”

He pulls it out of the mug, tapping it gently on the rim to shake off the lingering drops of chocolate and offers it to her. “Peppermint. Taste it.”

She takes it gingerly, wrinkling her nose slightly at the tacky residue the candy leaves on her fingers. The taste is stunningly sweet, the overpowering flavor dancing across her tongue and leaving it feeling oddly refreshed, even as the sugar coats her teeth and clings to her lips.

Shepard watches almost hopefully, and she doesn’t fully trust that this isn’t some kind of joke. That fear is only reinforced when Joker spots them on his way to the CIC, eyes growing wide at the sight of the red and white oddity in her hand.

“Where did you get that.”

Now Shepard grins, and Liara is jealous that she clearly does not understand the significance when Joker does. “I may have used my powers as a Spectre to terrify a requisitions clerk.”

 “Please tell me you have more.”

The smile deepens, becoming nothing short of fiendish, and with the taste of the red swirled candy still lingering on her tongue, she starts to understand why.

“I have a case.”

~

When the red and green socks with an antlered mammal stitched on the side appear, it’s time to do some research. After she stops staring at them long enough to ask, he merely shrugs and says something about a human tradition, refusing to elaborate further. So now Liara and Garrus sit in her office, pouring over the data she and Glyph have collected, trying to determine what fir trees, antlered mammals, cane-shaped sugar candy and red and green decorative motifs have in common. EDI’s mech is in the cockpit, but she pitches in regularly with some useful insight.

“I still can’t tell if it’s a religious thing or an economic stimulus,” Liara muses.

Garrus flips through more entries about humans with proportionate dwarfism dressed in disturbing costumes, who serve an overweight tyrant wearing a suit made of red velvet. “I can’t tell if it’s sane.”

Liara waves off his dismay. “It’s common to have rituals that look strange to other cultures. Protheans celebrated their coming of age by ingesting a parasite that prevented them from metabolizing certain nutrients as a show of strength. Some old asari beliefs hold that the spirits of loved ones can be trapped in jars, and offer guidance when placed in sacred circles fashioned within the home on certain days of the year.”

“That’s not comforting, Liara.”

“I bet there’s a few turian traditions that sound more than a little odd when you try to explain them to outsiders,” she prods.

“As odd as a single person visiting the homes of an entire planet in one evening? Liara, we’re talking physics here.”

She gives him a withering look. “Ok. Then tell me about the turian belief in Turak Selar.”

His mandibles twitch. “You mean the spirit that snatches the souls of ill-mannered children and traps them in lizards?”

Liara is silent.

“How is _that_ weird?”

She sighs and turns back to the monitors. “Christmas seems like a multi-layered tradition. There are even hints of fertility rituals in there, though I’m not sure humans still acknowledge those origins.”

Garrus shudders. “I _really_ hope fertility has nothing to do with this.”

“ _The Christmas tradition appears to have both religious and folkloric derivations,”_ EDI’s offers helpfully over the comm. _“The human Christian faith honors it as a birth commemoration for the offspring of their deity. The occasion is marked with religious services, re-enactments of the child’s birth—”_

The turian’s mandibles flail in alarm.

_“—communal singing of relevant songs and reuniting of families. However secular influences appear prominently throughout the holiday’s history as well. The date coincides closely with a winter solstice. Several related ancient customs therefore have been adopted as part of the festivities, such as interior decorations with greenery, feasting, and gift giving.”_

The AI’s voice quirks with interest on the last comment.

There’s a knock on the door, and Tali enters. “You said you wanted to see me?”

“For solidarity,” Garrus quips. “Shepard and the rest of the humans apparently neglected to tell us they secretly worship an immortal fat man who rides around in a hover sled dragged by hapless mammals, distributing presents to young children by breaking into their homes.”

Tali is so still Liara feels out the room’s gravity well to see if she’s somehow accidentally put her in a stasis field. “Is…that a joke?”

“No, Tali,” Garrus says with a sigh. “We’re actually friends with these people.”

“It’s apparently a celebration that Shepard values,” Liara adds. A thoughtful expression passes over her face. “You know what, we’re overlooking a rather important resource I usually don’t have access to when I’m studying dead cultures.”

“What’s that?” Garrus asks.

“Living sources. Glyph. Can you page Major Alenko?”

“At once, Dr. T’Soni.”

~

When Alenko joins them, he finds Liara sipping from a mug of hot chocolate with a peppermint stick as she pours over her wall of viewscreens along with Garrus and Tali.  To his surprise they display a conglomeration of nativity scenes, depictions of Santa Claus, sheet music for various Christmas carols, Bible passages and even the text of Charles Dickens’ _A Christmas Carol_. All three of them turn their heads as he enters.

“Alenko,” Garrus says with carefully measured pleasantness. “Please. Sit.”

Kaidan takes a seat in an open chair beside Tali, who is tinkering with her omnitool. Moments later the micro fabricator produces a small silver bell.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Liara folds her arms across her chest and leans her body forward just slightly, expression determined and voice earnest. “We need you to tell us about Christmas.”

~

It doesn’t go away.

An Earth calendar appears on Shepard’s desk, days of a singular month marked with ornate images. When Liara inspects it closer she sees that the square marking each day is actually a small door concealing a wrapped chocolate. A quick consultation of her sources tells her it’s an advent calendar.

Interesting. She wonders what this tells her about Shepard. The calendar appears to stem from the spiritual roots of the holiday, but she has never known Shepard to be overtly spiritual. He is not, however, all that economically driven, either. All the more peculiar.

When they go to sleep that night she finds one of the chocolates on her pillow. And one each night after that.

The strange socks keep appearing. It’s rare she catches him without his boots on (and when she does it’s usually because there isn’t much else on either), but when she does his feet are either red or green or sometimes both.

A holographic projection of an evergreen tree studded with white lights like twinkling stars materializes on his nightstand. When they sit on the couch with their datapads he turns on some music, not his usual jazz, but something decidedly reverent, hopeful. Not the silly songs that Tali has found about jingling bells and anthropomorphic snow creatures. These are hymns. 

Definitely spiritual then. _Fascinating_.

She bites her lip. Goddess, she sounds like _Glyph_. This is Shepard. All she has to do is ask. But it’s in her nature to poke, to explore, and she has to admit she draws pride from being able to ferret out the details on her own. 

When the words _O holy night_ drift by them he stops working and looks up at the stars, the lines of care on his brow smoothing away as a soft smile curves his lips. There’s a glimmer in his blue eyes that takes her by surprise. Gone is the weariness that perpetually dogs him on these late nights, when he’s left alone with his thoughts, a far cry from the hero blasted across all the vids. In its place is something wistful, dare she say even peaceful. After a moment he begins to hum, something he only does without thinking. The rich, baritone sound makes her heart flip. For a moment she just listens, scared to even move in case he stops, but eventually she sets down her datapad and leans against him, hugging his arm. He smiles down at her, runs his other hand gently down the side of her face.

“I had no idea this celebration meant so much to you,” she says.

He shrugs a little, an effort to make light of something he doesn’t take lightly at all. “I used to celebrate it on Mindoir. Something my mother insisted on. She always missed Earth and family on Christmas.” He huffs a little. “Guess I miss them, too. Part of celebrating Christmas is kindness, generosity. Putting aside your differences. Peace on Earth, goodwill to all, the old saying went. Seems pretty resonant right now, don’t you think?” 

She turns his chin with one finger until his eyes find hers. Then she kisses him, soft and tender and full of warmth. He sighs longingly into her mouth, drawing her to him as though he’s afraid to let go.

Later when they lie together tangled in the sheets, she runs her hand over the smooth contours of his back, the scar left by the brute on Tuchanka, the remains of a bullet wound he’d earned on the Collector base. She can feel the foreign edges of one of the plates clamped to his spine, Cerberus tech literally holding him together.

_Peace on Earth and goodwill to all._

That’s when she starts to plan.

~

It starts out as a conspiracy with just Garrus, Tali, EDI and Liara. But they quickly realize they need actual human help to interpret some of the stranger rituals. EDI recruits Cortez, which is when they learn about egg nog. Traynor teaches them how to spike it. Vega spots Cortez monkeying with his omnitool to see if he can make a snowglobe, then talks their ears off about Christmas lights and decorating a tree.

“What makes a Christmas light different from a regular light?” Tali asks.

“Christmas lights are tiny and come in strands,” James replied.

“And they’re sold in special boxes at double the price they would be for any other reason,” Joker quips.

James is forced to agree. “They’re all kinds of crazy colors.”

“Or white,” Cortex interrupts.

“Yeah, if you’re _boring_.” 

“So let me get this straight,” Garrus says slowly. “You harvest trees, of which Earth has a chronic short supply, so you can burden them with lights and small trophies?”

Cortez, Vega and Joker all exchange glances. “Well, we don’t just walk out into the forest and chop down a tree,” Joker explains. “There are Christmas tree farms.”

“Naturally,” Garrus replies.

Tali sighs. “It sounds beautiful.”

“Then if you’re good Santa comes down the chimney and leaves gifts under it,” Joker adds. 

“He comes down through the _chimney?”_ Liara squawks. “Into the fireplace?”

“Yes,” Joker says with a raised eyebrow, as though she’s the one who’s weird. Vega and Cortez both nod in agreement.

“While it’s _lit?”_

Garrus’ mandibles flare in exasperation. “Really? _That’s_ the part that finally got you?”

“No,” Tali says, and Liara can _hear_ her eyes roll, “it was the part where Turak Selar leaves collard greens on your pillow when you break your mother’s favorite vase.”

Garrus fixes her with a glare. Vega snorts. Tali redirects her attention to Liara, tapping a finger on the table. “Ok. So what do we do?”

_~_

EDI gets the word out to everyone who isn’t serving on the _Normandy,_ and convinces Wrex to call Shepard to the Citadel under the pretense of assisting krogan negotiations with the Council. Liara can scarcely believe when it all comes together, barely containing her glee when they dock. She detains him on the Presidium long enough for EDI to put things in motion, then finally acquiesces to Shepard’s grouchy demands that they forget the political bullshit and _go home_.

Because little by little, that is what the apartment is becoming.

When they arrive to the glam and glitter of the Silver Sun Strip, Shepard wastes no time cutting through the crowd, through the market and into the residential elevator that leads to the penthouse. But when he opens the door they find two krogan already standing inside, Wrex with a pile of boxes at his feet and Grunt bearing the trunk of an evergreen tree over his shoulder.

“Shepard!” the young krogan bellows, pine needles shaking loose and pooling at his feet. “I brought you a tree.” 

“Yeah,” says Garrus, who appears from behind the fireplace, small streamers of silver hanging from the points of his skull crest. “And I think he stole it from the Earth arboretum on the presidium, so I’m guessing C-Sec is going to knock on the door any minute now.”

Shepard doesn’t answer, because he’s staring at the turian. “Garrus…what is that?” Shepard points to a collection of white markings dotting the front of his armor. The turian glances down, mandibles quirking a little in embarrassment. “Tali, ah. Stenciled them. I think they’re snowflakes.”

Shepard raises an eyebrow, and Liara snickers. “You let Tali stencil snowflakes on you.”

Garrus cringes. “She made it sound like a really good idea.”

“ _How?”_

He tosses his hands helplessly. “I don’t… _know_.”

They hear a clatter from the kitchen, followed a hiss and shout of “ _Mierda_!” Shepard gives Liara a sidelong glance. “Who all is here, exactly?”

Glyph appears, draped in a holographic strand of colored lights. “Dr. T’Soni and EDI have arranged for the presence of sixteen individuals to partake in the festivities, Commander, yourself included.”

Several of Glyph’s lights flash off and on. Shepard slowly looks to Liara for confirmation. She nods and shifts her feet, unsure for half a beat if she’s made a huge mistake.

“We’re having Christmas,” she says, biting her lip. “All of us. Your family.”

The surprise slowly dissolves as his eyes grow wide in disbelief, an expression slowly coming over his face that Liara isn’t sure she’s ever seen before. For someone so accustomed to being rebuffed, challenged, railed against, for having to fight for every inch he gains, the great Commander Shepard suddenly looks…moved.  

“Hey. Boyscout.”

They all look up in the direction of the balcony, where Jack lounges against the railing, wearing a red velvet coat trimmed with white fir and a matching floppy hat with a ball of white fluff attached to the tip.

“Merry fucking Christmas. Now get some damn egg nog before the krogan drinks it all.”

~

Fucking Christmas. The whole idea is absurd.

Jack stands on the balcony looking down at the disparate mix of aliens that only Shepard could have united together, not just for some outrageously noble cause but for friendship. Not that she’s immune or anything. She’s drunk her fair share of the kool-aid, too. And apparently her limits do not exclude dressing up in red velvet. 

She flicks the little white puffball dangling by her cheek. Not even the cult she’d joined had been batshit enough to believe a magical fat man delivering presents to good little boys and girls could be anything other than a truly fucked up kink.

“Jack! You look great!”

She glares at the turian. “Fuck off.”

Garrus nods, unfazed. “Good talk.”

The jacket she’s wearing comes from a mannequin in a human-run shop in Zakera ward. Christmas is not something Jack is well acquainted with, but judging from the sheer volume of tinsel and snowmen currently plastered all over the markets, human merchants sure as shit are. She’s fairly certain the origins of the thing are supposed to be spiritual, but the overwhelming amount of commercialism involved makes her wonder if anyone knows that or even cares.

The bug-eyed collector Shepard keeps insisting isn’t a collector comes to stand beside her on the balcony. How he’s gotten away without dressing like an asshole is beyond her.

“You look ridiculous,” he informs her.

“Thank you.”

“Where did you obtain such a foolish ensemble and why would you inflict it upon yourself?”

Jack nods downstairs, where the two krogan wrangle with the tree.

“See those two idiots?”

Javik nods.

“Did you hear how Garrus said they stole that tree from the human arboretum?”

The prothean shrugs, rapidly losing interest.

“That’s not the only place we raided,” she says with a laugh. “There was also an incident on the Presidium. It involved a bottle of ryncol, an animatronic Santa display, and some really bad decisions.”

Alenko walks past, carrying a fistful of holo emitters. He smiles and nods cordially. Jack wants to ask him what he’s doing, but also doesn’t actually want to know the answer. He goes to the far end of the balcony and begins work to mount one to the railing.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack mutters.

“If you are referring to his sweater, I must say that I do not believe a deity is responsible.”

She is, and he’s right.

~

Shepard has the mug of egg nog halfway to his mouth when Joker chucks a wad of knitted fabric at him.

“If I have to live in shame, you do too,” the pilot informs him. “And if you even try to pull rank I’m having _Major_ Alenko override it.”

Shepard stares down at the sweater in his hand, then looks back up at Joker, who’s donned a red knitted monstrosity with a Christmas tree on it. And small omni-tool powered lights. That blink.

“Who did that to you?” he asks.

“Your biotic sidekick. Not the sexy one.”

Shepard looks around for Alenko and finds him at the top of the stairs, monkeying with a small object that looks like a holo emitter. He, too, is wearing a sweater, navy colored with pine trees stitched on the front. In the center, wearing a red scarf, is an antlered creature that looks more like a moose than a reindeer. A row of painstaking maple leaves line the top and bottom of the hideous design, and tiny white stars dot the sleeves.

“Kaidan?” Shepard questions.

The major looks over at them, sees the knitted wad in Shepard’s hands and gives him a pointed look. “Well. Going to wear it or not?”

Shepard looks down at what Joker has given him. It is red and green striped, each row featuring a line of small dancing Santas that extend across the sleeves. 

“Kaidan, if I wear this, entire civilizations might collapse.”

Joker elbows him, hard, as a miffed expression crosses the biotic’s face. “His mom made them,” Joker hisses.

Shepard raises an eyebrow, looking down at the sweater and back up at Kaidan, who waits expectantly. He sighs. “Fine. Hey, James?”

“Yeah, Loco!”

“This egg nog is spiked, right?”

“Damn right.”

“ _Good_.”

~

Miranda reaches for the door chime but hesitates with her hand halfway there. Maybe this is a bad idea. Most of the people on the other side she hardly knows. Not really. She’d trust her life to any of them on a battlefield, but when it comes to social situations – well. Making friends wasn’t what she’d been on the _Normandy_ to do. Aside from Shepard and, she can’t believe she’s saying this, _Jack_ , she doesn’t even know how many people will be glad to see her.

Miranda Lawson, head of the Lazarus Project, Commander Shepard’s former XO, survivor of a suicide mission and Cerberus defector, is intimidated by a Christmas party.

The gathering Shepard had thrown after that business with the clone had been one thing, but this time Miranda can’t shake the feeling that she’s an interloper. She has no Christmas memories to share. Christmas hadn’t exactly been on her father’s priority list. Nothing had been, except for perfection. Miranda has never celebrated a birthday. Never gone to a dance. She has no traditions like this of her own, and until the _Normandy_ she hadn’t thought anything of it. Leisure only got in the way of her work, and her work was too important.

And she doesn’t really know how to change.

In fact she’s about to turn around when someone comes up behind her, Specialist Traynor, if she recalls, carrying a bag of supplies that jingles as she walks.

“Ms. Lawson! Oh, so good to see you! I was hoping you’d make it.” Traynor offers her a broad smile, though Miranda is so distracted by the reindeer antlers on her head that she stumbles over her reply.

“Can I help with that?” she manages finally.

“Get the door?”

Miranda takes in a deep breath and hits the door chime. No backing out now. When the doors part open she immediately hears the swelling chorus of _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas._ Shepard and Jack are nowhere to be seen, much to her dismay, though Joker sits on the couch laughing about something as EDI smiles. Garrus and Tali string Christmas lights over the fireplace, arguing vehemently about the proper placement and something about _choreography_. Grunt and Urdnot Wrex crouch intently in front of a giant Christmas tree with a box of weapon mods. Grunt fixes a thermal clip with a tiny hook. Two of Shepard’s Alliance crewmembers are telling stories in the kitchen, the beefy marine and the shuttle pilot.

A few call out greetings, and she offers a hesitant wave as she follows Traynor to the bar. 

“I thought we needed more booze,” the communications specialist informs her as she sets the bag down on the mahogany tabletop and begins removing the myriad bottles she’s procured from the casino. She also has a wad of necklaces laced with tiny jingle bells, one of which she hands Miranda. “Here, have a necklace.”

Miranda takes it gingerly, the tiny bells tinkling as she slips it over her head.

“I have one with blinking Christmas lights, but I plan to punish Steve with that one,” Traynor continues. “He looks way too good in that suit. That dress is _smashing,_ by the way. My God, you look brilliant.”

Miranda looks down, face flushing a little. She’d spent hours picking it, a silky red halter-top gown with black trim that shows off her legs. But seeing Traynor in a much more casual ensemble makes her suddenly very self-conscious.

“I feel a little ridiculous, to be honest,” she confesses.

“Oh, please don’t. I feel I have to warn you though. A few drinks from now and I may accidentally hit on you. I swear I don’t mean anything by it.” She gives Miranda a slightly hopeful glance. “Unless you want me to, anyway.”

Miranda has no idea how to respond, and is thankful when Shepard suddenly materializes, grinning and reaching for her hands. She’s startled by his appearance – she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him this…relaxed. The lines of his face are smoother, the spidering scars across his cheek that always reminded her of shattered glass are nearly invisible. The ever-present guarded look in his eyes has been lifted like a curtain. When he grips her hands in his own his skin is as warm as his smile. He looks like someone taking his first breath of fresh air in months, and all the nervousness and uncertainty she felt just moments ago vanishes. 

“Miranda,” he says, and kisses her lightly on the cheek. “So glad to see you. You look great.”

She’s about to say the same when she notices the sweater, and stifles a giggle. He knows exactly what she’s laughing at, but his grin only deepens. At that moment Alenko sticks his head around the corner and hands her a burgundy velvet…bag in the shape of a foot, with her name stenciled across the top in gold.

“What is this?” she asks in surprise.

“Stocking,” he replies. “Hang it over the fireplace.” A mysterious look crosses his face. “Wait and see what happens.”

“Kaidan, what are you doing with those holo emitters, by the way?” Shepard asks.

“You’ll see,” the major replies before disappearing again.

Miranda looks down at the stocking in her hands, rubbing her thumb over the threads that spell out her name. She hardly knows Alenko. And their first meeting on Horizon hadn’t exactly been…pleasant. But here he was, welcoming her without question or reservation. She wonders if she could have done the same in his place.

Before Shepard the answer would have been no.

Without a word she gives Shepard a hug, squeezing him tight and willing away the tear pricking the corner of her eye. Shepard responds in kind, and when she pulls away he gives her another smile.

“What was that for?”

“Just a thank you,” she replies.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

~

Vega has taken over the kitchen, though Cortez insists on helping. The problem is he and Cortez apparently have very different ideas on what kind of potatoes go with a proper Christmas dinner.

“Mashed,” James insists.

“Sweet,” Cortez argues.

“That’s for Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, we didn’t _have_ that in Venezuela.”

This gives James a moment of pause, but not for long. “Nope. Mashed.”

“Why not _both?_ It’s not like we don’t have enough people.”

James wipes his hands on his apron, bright green with the words _Give Santa Some Sugar_ stenciled on the front in red. “All right, fine. But it’s all on you. And I have no idea if Shepard has a casserole dish.”

Cortez starts digging around in cabinets. “What are we doing for the dextro people, by the way?” he asks.

“Oh hell, I’m having _that_ part catered.” He grimaces. “And I prepaid the tip this time.”

“Catered?” Cortez says with a trace of skepticism. 

“Hey, I can prepare a spread that would make world class chefs weep. But dextro? No way I’m ruining Christmas dinner for Garrus and Tali.”

“That confident in your cooking abilities, huh?”

James puffs out his chest just a little. “Go on. Take a second to admire me. It’s fine.”

Steve rolls his eyes, finds a casserole dish, and tugs it free. “I’ll reserve judgment, thanks. Do you think Shepard has any idea what’s actually in these cabinets?”

“No way. Loco can burn coffee. I bet he’s never cooked a full meal in his life.” Liara either, but he doesn’t say that out loud. His grandmother taught him young never to insult a lady’s cooking. “Look out, coming through.” He sidles past the shuttle pilot with a cutting board of chopped garlic and flips it neatly into a skillet preheating on the stove, then adds the sausage links he has ready on the counter for the stuffing. “Stand back. Don’t want to get grease on those flashy duds.”

Cortez is probably the only one in this place who has managed to make Christmas look stylish. Instead of the garish sweaters, Santa hats, or in Traynor’s case reindeer antlers, Esteban has gone for black slacks and a perfectly tailored scarlet collared shirt with gold pinstripes.

“You’re just jealous you can’t wear it like I can,” Cortez remarks.

He’s right. But there’s no way James is going to admit it.

“So tell me, Mr. Vega. How do you usually celebrate Christmas?”

“Hit the beach,” James replies with a grin. “No white stuff falling from the sky where I come from on Christmas. We made snow angels out of sand. What about you?”

The shuttle pilot’s expression contorts briefly, enough that James wonders if he’s struck a nerve. “Robert and I used to spend it together. Nice and quiet, just how we liked. We were homebodies. He liked to sing. I played a little piano.” A nostalgic smile crosses the pilot’s face. “We could do a mean rendition of White Christmas.”

“Bing Crosby style?”

“Who else?”

James grins. “I’d like to hear that.”

“Well, I think I could still play it. But when I sing it sounds more like a squawking chicken.”

James is still laughing when Alenko strolls through the kitchen with a handful of holo emitters in hand. He’s about to ask what the major is doing when something catches Kaidan’s eye and he pauses in mid-stride. “Hey, where’d that come from?” He points at something over their heads.

Cortez squints. “Is that mistletoe?” 

“That wasn’t there a second ago,” James says with a frown.

They catch the brief shimmer of a tactical cloak and hear a disembodied but playful voice call out, “Don’t let me down, boys.”

James looks at Cortez.

“Vega, _no._ No way. I don’t—”

James Vega hooks the shuttle pilot by the back of his neck and plants a smooch on his lips.

~

By the time Zaeed knocks on the door he needs a really stiff drink and something to shoot. Between the goddamn hat and coat he’s been suckered into wearing and the sack of who-the-fuck-knows slung over his shoulder, he’s been accosted by every kid in the wards, and his patience is about as thin as the blade of a knife.

And he’s got no bloody doubt that the asshole who told him to pick up the sodding bag for Shepard from a kiosk near the casino and talked him in to this goddamned outfit knew _exactly_ what would happen when he went parading through the fucking Silver Sun Strip in this getup. From the moment he’d gotten out of the skycar until the moment he’d finally peeled the last kid off of him and gotten in the elevator he’d been tugged on, fawned over, gawked at and even screamed at by everything from infants to near teenagers. Shit, even a couple of turian children had gotten in on the act.

Zaeed has only vaguely heard of Santa Claus before. But now he was intimately fucking familiar with the idea, and he knew exactly who to blame. 

A krogan bellows to him in greeting the moment he sets foot in the door, but his eyes have already found their target. “You,” he says, voice dripping with ire.

Joker gets unsteadily to his feet and tries to creep away from the scene.

“You cocksucking _bastard_.”

“They were kids!” he protests, edging around the fireplace in the direction of the bar as fast as his fragile body allows. “You were Santa Claus!”

“They were a goddamn _pestilence_ and you’re a dead man.”

Joker yelps, looking to someone, anyone to protect him, and choosing the prothean of all people. “My girlfriend has a Thanix cannon!”

“Get away from me, human,” Javik sneers.

Jack catches Zaeed on the arm as he storms past, dead set on the hapless pilot, and shoves a glass in his hand. “Here, have a drink.”

“This better be scotch,” Zaeed fumes.

“No shit, asshole. It’s Shepard’s personal stock.”

Zaeed downs the glass and takes a moment to notice her hat and coat, eerily similar to his own. “Who suckered you?” he asks.

“Never take up a krogan on a dare,” she replies, but there’s a smirk on her face that is more amusement than anger, and he wonders if maybe he’s overreacting a little.

The perky, dark-haired comm specialist peers over their shoulders, offering refills. “You probably made their day, you know.”

“Who?”

She tugs at the white fluffball at the end of his hat. “The children. They thought you were Santa. I hope you didn’t actually tell them to sod off.”

Jack crosses her elegant, tattooed arms. “Think long and hard before you answer that question, by the way.”

“What am I, a fucking ape?” Zaeed gives her a reviling look. “But I swear, the next time someone asks to sit on my lap it better be a goddamned asari giving me a lap dance.”

Traynor’s eyebrow forms a perfect, skeptical arch. “You mean to tell me you didn’t enjoy putting a smile on their charming little faces, even a little?”

The grizzled mercenary eyes her hard, swirls the liquid in his glass and kicks back a swallow. “You think I’m actually going to admit that to anyone?”

The left side of her mouth curves up in a smile, and she offers her glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Zaeed replies.

~

Joker never dreamed that watching a pair of krogan decorate a Christmas tree could be this entertaining. They’ve set it up next to the piano, giving him a front row view of the spectacle from his seat on the couch. Once Zaeed is safely occupied enough for him to reclaim it, anyway. EDI hangs a meticulous row of stockings along the mantle of the fireplace, each one embroidered with a name. He notes that she has hung theirs side by side.

Glyph has compiled a playlist of Christmas music, and Joker has to admit the drone has done a good job. It’s a mix of hymns and more up-tempo numbers, from _Joy to the World_ to _Winter Wonderland_ and everything in between. Grunt, who knows none of the words, nonetheless warbles along in a hideously off-key gravely voice that is too enthusiastic to hate. Of all the people at this little gathering, the tank-bred krogan seems to be getting the most out of it.

He has _no_ idea where Grunt got a Santa coat – it’s too small and has a split in the back where the Aralakh chief has tried to _make_ it fit, but he looks just as happy as he does when he’s fighting reaperized rachni.

Wrex doesn’t have a coat but he _does_ have a fake beard strapped to his face, which is less his idea and more _Jack’s,_ of all people. Something about owing her. Joker doesn’t know how the leader of the krogan race found himself indebted to a certifiably insane human biotic, and he’s sure as shit not going to ask. Traynor tried to get him to wear a Santa hat, to which he replied he already _had_ a red crest and she could kindly shove the hat up her ass.

Well, he may not have phrased it exactly like that. But Joker has been around the surly battlemaster enough to read between the lines.

Grunt fishes around in a box at his feet, draws out a shotgun blade attachment, loops a string around it, and hangs it on a branch.

“Hey, Grunt,” Joker calls out. “Maybe tie a red ribbon around it or something. Nothing says Christmas like a bayonet with a bow.”

The krogan tilts his head, considering, then barks over at Tali and Garrus, who are consulting a schematic of Shepard’s apartment and designing an elaborate plan for Christmas lights that apparently involves synchronization.

“Turian! I need red ribbon!”

Garrus digs around in a box of fake garland and tangles of ribbon, selects a roll of red, and tosses it to Grunt.  “Have at it, big guy.”

The krogan rips a long tread of ribbon and ties it in a savage knot around the hilt of the blade – nowhere close to a bow but Joker isn’t about to say a word – and moves on to the next item in the box. An assault rifle piercing mod.

Wrex has found another source for ornaments: Shepard’s ship collection. Whether or not Shepard _knows_ the krogan has raided it remains to be seen, but Joker has to give him credit for a good idea. But when Grunt sees him try to hang the _Normandy_ on a lower branch, he snatches it from the hands of his elder and snarls.

“No! The _Normandy_ goes at the top. _Above_ all the others.”

“Watch it, whelp,” Wrex growls in response. But he complies.

“Why don’t you make it the star?” Joker suggests.

Both krogan give him an odd look. Joker points to the top of the tree. “Christmas trees always have something special at the top. Like a star or an angel.”

“Wrex, you’re not hanging me on a tree,” Garrus calls out.

“I said _angel_ , not _archangel_ ,” Joker calls back with a roll of his eyes. He turns back to Grunt. “It’s the place of honor.”

Without further discussion Wrex wrangles the uppermost branch into submission and somehow jams the _Normandy_ in place without breaking it, though the entire tree sways dangerously.

“Perfect,” Joker declares, and Grunt beams with pride.

EDI joins him on the couch to admire her handiwork, wearing a blue scarf with a snowman on it around her neck. She’s programmed her amber visor to oscillate red and green, which Joker should find obnoxious and instead thinks is kind of adorable.

“Does it appear acceptable?” she asks.

“It looks perfect. I just hope Zaeed isn’t planning to fill the stockings.”

“I believe Major Alenko has assembled a number of small trinkets he plans to distribute.”

“Of course he has.”

The sit together and watch the merry krogans for a few minutes, accompanied by the crooning of Nat King Cole.

“So what do you think of your first Christmas?” he asks, slipping an arm around her and playing with the fringe of her scarf.

“I am concerned that we are not representing a wide enough range of traditions,” she replies. “There are a great many variances in the celebration of this holiday across different human heritages, yet we appear to be mostly favoring ‘western’ culture.”

Joker shrugs. “I’ll blame Canada for that one.”

EDI tilts her head, perplexed. “Please elaborate.”

“That’s code for Kaidan Alenko,” Joker explains, and points to the blinking lights on his sweater. “I had no idea that man took Christmas so seriously. What the hell is he doing with those holo emitters, anyway?” 

“He has sworn me to secrecy,” she says, but leans in conspiratorially. “But between you and me, he says he is trying to provide some wintery ambiance that reminds him of home.”

Joker laughs. “Picturing Christmas in the Alenko household might actually give me cavities. I bet his mom has a dozen annual photos of her precious baby boy sitting on Santa’s lap.” He settles back into the cushions, smiling. “You know, the first time my parents took Hil to see Santa, she screamed so hard security showed up. The photo is priceless. I’ll have to see if I can find it.” He sobers a little, wondering if his family will ever celebrate Christmas again. With a mumble he reaches for the drink he has on the table and takes a swig.

EDI grips his hand with her metal fingers, which are cold but still comforting. “Jeff, I know this is a holiday geared to families, and the unknown status of your own may be unpleasant. I may not be…family in the traditional sense. But I would be happy to act as your family on this occasion.”

Joker softens a little, and steals a glance at the avatar of the place – the person – who has become home in a way that nothing ever has been before.

“No pretending needed at all, EDI. Not too many people can be home and family at the same time.”

~

Kaidan has to give James credit where credit is due. The man can cook. The spread he and Cortez have whipped up is nothing short of amazing, and Tali nearly cries when the food he’s ordered in for her and Garrus comes from her favorite restaurant.

The sound of laughter, glasses clinking, the occasional light tinkle of bells, mingled with the sounds of Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby make for a scene Kaidan never would have thought possible. But the most amazing thing isn’t the food, the decorations, the music. It’s the transformation of everyone in that room from war-hardened soldiers to just…people.  He hardly recognizes Shepard. The galaxy’s greatest hero, so accustomed to dominating any presence in the room, blends seamlessly with his crew, his broad smile and hearty laugh briefly making Kaidan wonder if they overlooked a clone. Even Liara looks completely different.  For starters she’s wearing one hell of a dress, a deep mauve color with a square cut neckline and elegant gold embroidery across the chest. The satin cloth falls gently over her hips to sweep the ground, a decidedly different look than her usual ensemble. In place of her traditional solemn, focused demeanor she is bright and smiling, one arm threaded through Shepard’s arm, blue eyes as warm and open as the summer sky. It’s like getting a glimpse of who they might all be if the reapers hadn’t existed.

After the meal they gather in the living room near the fireplace, where Tali and Garrus whisper frantically and make last minute adjustments to a wad of cables and power cords. When they’re finally ready they shush the crowd and give EDI a cue. The lights go out, and two false starts later a somewhat up-tempo version of _Carol of the Bells_ starts to play over the speakers, kicking off a phenomenally synchronized light display strung up all throughout the apartment. A dazzling array of colors fade in and out in tune with the music, and amidst the glowing spectrum he finds himself smiling.

Once more they have done the impossible.  Only this time it’s not through combat, infiltration or political negotiations. During the worst of times they’ve brought a moment of peace to a shattered, disparate galaxy.

Goodwill towards all.

When the song ends and the lights stop, EDI starts to bring up the lights.

“Hang on,” Kaidan interrupts. “One more thing.”

Shepard has his arms looped loosely around Liara, who leans back against his chest in a much more open display of closeness than either customarily display. “Does this have to do with your holo emitters?”

“Yeah,” Kaidan says with a smile. “I thought I’d bring a little Canadian weather to the Citadel.” He activates his omnitool and enters a startup sequence to activate the holo emitters he’s placed all over the apartment. Moments later the walls are awash with tiny pinpricks of light in the shape of snowflakes.

“Let it snow,” he says simply.

Vega begins to clap, and soon the others join in.

“Everyone should check their stockings, by the way.”

They all glance around, surprised, then notice that the stockings do, in fact, have something in them. Kaidan smiles to himself, not bothering to look around for his partner in crime, as he knows he won’t see her. But he offers silent thanks all the same.

None of the items he’s procured are extravagant – mostly small trinkets and favorite candies, deliberately unpractical and fun. Garrus gets noise poppers – which Kaidan is sure he’ll live to regret – Tali gets a special dextro candy unique to the flotilla. James gets a slinky, which took some serious negotiating with an omnitool.

Amidst everyone’s excited chatter, Shepard taps against his glass, still holding his new model of the _Normandy_ – Alliance colors this time – in the crook of his arm.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” he announces, and everyone falls silent. “To our family and friends. The ones present tonight. The ones far away. And the ones we’ve been parted from. Whenever we start to wonder what we fight for, remember them. Remember this. Because right here, right now. This is what we sacrifice for.” His eyes rove over each of them in turn. “And looking at all of you here tonight…it’s worth it. All of it.”

There is a chorus of agreements and clinking of glasses. Cortez, with a somewhat thoughtful look on his face, winds his way through to the piano. Moments later the strains of _White Christmas_ play out beneath his fingers. Kaidan listens, imagining Christmas mornings in his parents’ home in Vancouver, then notices Miranda Lawson hesitantly approach the piano as well. Cortez glances up, head tilting curiously, and his fingers pause. “Know the words?”

She nods, casts an uncertain glance at the others in the room. She’s met with nothing but encouragement. Kaidan had no idea she could sing.

“By all means,” Steve says with a carefree smile, and begins the song anew. Miranda’s voice wavers over the first few notes, but soon becomes strong and melodious. Not surprisingly, her voice is flawless.

Garrus takes Tali by the hand and spins her around on the floor. James, not to be outdone, seeks out Jack (much to her chagrin), and with an arm at her back dips her so low to the ground her biotics flare, surrounding them both in a bright blue halo. The marine grins, lifts her effortlessly up and twirls her with one hand until she actually laughs. The simulated snow studs the floor under their feet with small white jewels of light, and Kaidan is more than a little proud of himself.

Traynor and Javik stand behind him by counter overlooking the kitchen, the grumpy prothean shifting his feet in mild irritation. Seems Christmas hasn’t exactly worked its magic on him. That is probably too much of a miracle to ask for.

He feels something brush past him, though when he look behind him there is nothing there. However, a small sprig of mistletoe has appeared over Javik’s head. Kaidan’s eyes widen, and when Traynor notices she follows his gaze.

A mischievous glint enters her brown eyes.

“Sam,” Kaidan warns.

“Oh, the hell with it,” she says with a sigh, moments before Javik gets the surprise of his life.  

~

The holographic snow still twinkles throughout the apartment when Shepard reaches the top of the stairs and finds Liara sitting on the couch outside the bedroom, datapad in hand. He takes moment just to watch her, the way the silk of her dress drapes over her legs in a soft pool of purple, the gleam of the snow creating pale halos over the exposed skin of her arms. The expression on her face isn’t that of the Shadow Broker, it’s of a woman at peace.

How in the world a woman like her has chosen him, he’ll never know, but he’s not going to give her the opportunity to change her mind.

“There you are,” he says at last, and she looks up with a smile. “What are you doing? Everyone’s downstairs.” The faint echoes of voices and frequent laughter filter up from below. Cortez still goes strong on the piano, with Miranda joining in when she knows the words.

“Reading,” she replies.

“Now? But this was all your idea.” He settles down beside her, trailing his fingers down the side of her cheek. “Come join in the fun.”

She hands him the datapad. “It was in my stocking,” she protests. “Besides, it’s relevant.”

“Ah,” Shepard says, taking the proffered datapad and scanning through it. “ _A Christmas Carol_. Ebenezer Scrooge and the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future.”

She nods. “I like Dickens. I read _Tale of Two Cities_ when we were…courting. On the first _Normandy_.”

He laughs a little and hands the datapad back to her. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” He slides one arm around her shoulders and she leans into him, flicking at the stitching on his sweater with a smirk. Shepard catches her hand and holds it, tracing the lines of her palm with his thumb.

“So what do you think of old Mr. Scrooge?”

“I think he is an admirable allegory for the importance of compassion and goodwill.”

Shepard exhales, myriad thoughts racing through his head, some of them good, some of them bad. Christmas is a double-edged sword sometimes. “My mom read that book every year,” he says. “When I was little she’d read passages to me at bedtime.” He chuckles. “I think because I thought it was so boring it was an easy way to get me to fall asleep.”

Liara sobers a little. “I didn’t think to ask you if any of this might make you uncomfortable. I didn’t think about Mindoir. I’m sorry.”

He looks down at her. “Are you crazy? Nothing to be sorry for. Those are good memories, even if some of them sting a little. I’m sure you have a few like that yourself.”

“I do,” she says with a faraway smile. “We did not have anything like Christmas on Thessia. But at least once a year my mother would take me to a different temple honoring one of the old goddesses worshiped before siari. She thought it was important to remember who we were in order to continue building who we are.”

Shepard smiles to himself. “That sounds right up your alley.”

“She always bought me a new dress. We would stay in the nicest hotel she could find.” She snuggles a little deeper against him, her warmth sinking right through to his skin. “It was our time. She had everyone treat us like visiting dignitaries. I…loved it. One of the few times it was ever just us. I always told myself I would do the same for my daughter.”

Shepard plants a kiss against the slope of her crest. “We still will. They’ll rebuild, Liara. We all will.”

“I hope so.”

He pulls her tighter to him. “You know one of the silly things I remember most about Christmas? My parents had these Christmas tree glasses. They were clear, with Christmas trees painted on them. The trees had the outlines of ornaments on them, and when you filled the glass with something cold they turned red.” He laughs a little. “They’d been in my dad’s family for years. Brought them all the way to Mindoir from Earth. Such a simple little thing, and it might be the thing I miss most.”

Liara puts an arm across his chest and squeezes a little. “I love you,” she says simply, and somehow it’s exactly the right response.

He kisses her on the forehead, idly stroking her arm. “Dance with me?”

She lets him pull her off the couch. “I thought you’d put a moratorium on dancing,” she says with a smirk. 

“I’m making an exception,” he replies. “Glyph?”

The little drone, never far away, obediently appears. “Yes, Commander?”

“Play us something.”

Without missing a beat a melody starts, and two sonorous voices begin singing a slow, playful song he instantly recognizes.

_I really can’t stay_

_(But baby, it’s cold outside)_

_I’ve got to go away_

_(But baby, it’s cold outside)_

He slides one hand around to the small of her back and pulls her close, until he feels her breath against his ear and the hem of her dress swishes against his legs. His other hand falls to her hip as hers link around his neck, and he guides her in small, soft steps across the floor, out of sight of everyone still downstairs.

_This evening has been_

_(Been hoping that you'd drop in)_

_So very nice_

_(I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice)_

“Thank you for doing this,” he says softly. She leans back just enough to look in his eyes, the sharp blue of her irises giving him a look that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Anything for you.”

_My mother will start to worry_

_(Beautiful, what's your hurry?)_

_My father will be pacing the floor_

_(Listen to the fireplace roar)_

He puts a hand to her face, taking in her dress, her smile, her comforting nearness that he honestly does not know what he would do without. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs.

Over the soft chords of the music someone clears their throat. Shepard and Liara both freeze and look around. “Is someone there?” he demands.

“Look _up_ , idiots,” a voice says in exasperation. They do, and see a sprig of green hanging over their heads.

“Kasumi?” Shepard asks, looking around him for any sign of the thief and finding none.

Liara is still examining the freshly hung evergreen. “What is that?”

Shepard raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t your Christmas research tell you about mistletoe?”

“Do you have any idea how _much_ information there is about Christmas?” she replies archly.

 A slow grin spreads over his face. “Good. That means I get to show you.”

When they come up for air she is breathless and flushed, and the future that Shepard has never allowed himself to think about unfurls before them. In this moment, he can wonder. He can hope.

“Merry Christmas, Liara.”

“Merry Christmas, Shepard.” 

* * *

_Song lyrics: Baby, It's Cold Outside by Frank Losser. The version I had in mind is by Lee Ann Womack and Harry Connick Jr.!  
_


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